


The Stars Stand

by Chokopoppo



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Fluff, M/M, i wrote this a while ago and i guess people liked it so w/e, wow this is kinda gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chokopoppo/pseuds/Chokopoppo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It grew clearer, each time, that the motion was a display of affection. Rhekt observed other humans partake in it, occasionally, but only when alone. It was something small, and private, and Ptolemy had shared it with him."</p>
<p>Bartimaeus and Ptolemy spend time together, and nothing bad happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars Stand

The Nile had risen, flooding the reeds and the farmland, contaminating the once-dry sand and twisting the dirt into rivulets, then buckets, of mud, pouring back into the sparkling almost white current. Farmers darted back and forth, up to their knees, running into the water after children who had splashed too far and nearly been carried away, or re-establishing property lines, arguing and laughing and joking, dark hair shining in the sunlight that wailed down upon their backs. From ineffably white marble stairs, far above and away, a Sumerian teacher sat and watched, cross-legged and falcon-eyed. Hours had passed already, and surely hours were still to come in his shift, but he never faltered, neck in constant movement as he scanned back and forth. Irritated sighs fell heavy from his mouth.

Behind him, a young boy approached. Brown feet fell bare and silent on smooth stone in a casual loping stride. His body, like his smile, loosened to crookedness, head tipped and shoulders slanted, crossing his arms easily as he slowed to a stop beside his tutor. He gave the aggravated man an appeasing glance. "What news, Rhekt?"

"Well, let's just see." The man's brows knotted and his passive face twisted into a scowl. "Seven nearly drowned, three kids stuck in the mud, two grievous sickle injuries, and in general, twelve lives grabbed at the brink of death. Slaps received: five. 'Thank you's: zero." He propped an elbow on his knee and his face on his palm, rolling yellow eyes.

The boy laughed, flashing teeth, and rested a hand upon his friend's shoulder. He stared down at curling hair for a moment, mentally disputing something, then said, "Well, here's one. Thank you, Rhekt," and leaned in, resting lips on the man's temple for a moment before squeezing his shoulder, adding, "keep up the good work," and wandering idly away.

Rhekt glanced back at the prince, blinking, before he returned his gaze to the river. Humans did odd things. It was best not to worry over them.

~!~

It wasn't the first time Ptolemy had indulged in a show of affection. Several weeks previous, back in Akhet, when the rains had come screaming down on the sands, the djinn had retreated to the cool white awning of the balcony. Ptolemy, scrolls in arm, had followed him out and invited himself onto the spirit's lap, resting comfortably against superficially warm skin. Rhekt, himself, had wrapped an arm around the boy's back and slumped his head against the wall. It had been a comfortable two hours - easy breathing, cool breeze pushing through the columns, the occasional gasp or chuckle from the prince - but the stress of the natural world was clearly pulling at the spirit. He moved slowly, on the rare occasions he bothered to, and sat to rest more often than not. His usual rhetoric of insults (often directed at the hair or dress of Ptolemy's other "tutors") grew weak in bite and humor, and found themselves few in number. Two weeks was unkind to a spirit with no previous experience of long exposure.

Ptolemy considered him. It was about time to send the spirit back, but the concept of spending time without him - even if only for a few hours - was unpleasant and vaguely surreal. Like losing his shadow, if his shadow had cleverly belittled anyone who insulted him or blagged him into the library when he was supposed to be doing other things. Or occasionally turned into a cat and killed all the mice in his room. Or...anything Rhekt did, really. He honestly wasn't very much like a shadow at all. Much too loud for that.

And without really thinking, the boy leaned up and kissed his friend on the cheek, then settled his head in the crook of his neck and turned his eyes back to his reading.

Confused fingers ran through his hair.

~!~

Sometimes, Ptolemy would hit a burst of inspiration, his already brilliant mind exploding with a sudden theory that desperately needed to be developed, and he would lock himself in his room, pour over scrolls, scribble calculations and vague strands of ideas madly over parchment, hours at a stretch, burning lamb fat candles at night and cracking open windows by day. Rhekt wandered along the walls, but never spoke or asked questions - it was difficult to frustrate the boy, certainly, but if one did, it was because they had bothered him when he was trying to write. His hatred of being disturbed during these spells was unmeasurable.

So Rhekt waited until the idea had either worn itself out of Ptolemy's head or had thoroughly exhausted him and sent his face careening into some pool of ink from a cracked bottle. It was at this point when the djinn would collect the boy up and set him (somewhat messily) upon his own bed before rolling up scrolls, setting them among their proper shelves, wiping up spilled blotches where the quill had split and vomited its contents all over the desk, and collecting up the debris the prince had thrown over his shoulder or onto the ground, or -almost- to the tin where he had meant to toss them. If the spell had lasted particularly long (once there had been one that had made it almost three days), he would send for some kind of meal, then shift into some smaller form and slip in next to him.

Once, after a short spell, Ptolemy's sleep had been light, and the great and constant sound of shifting paper woke him after only a few minutes. He watched the ritual see itself through, quietly observing from his place on the pillow, and when the spirit approached, reached a sleepy arm out to him and took his hand. Bleary eyed and soft of smile, he pressed the knuckles to his lips, then let his arm slide down again as he turned back to his rest. Rhekt blinked, smiled, and brushed the boy's hair from closed eyes before shifting into something more four-legged and soft to snuggle up against.

~!~

It grew clearer, each time, that the motion was a display of affection. Rhekt observed other humans partake in it, occasionally, but only when alone. It was something small, and private, and Ptolemy had shared it with him.

~!~

Yet another assassin dispatched, and Ptolemy had grown to simply shake his head and sigh despondently when they discovered - slightly too late - that the prince laying in bed was a djinn in disguise. The two congregated around the still-warm cadaver, Ptolemy considering the body, Rhekt considering Ptolemy, the body too busy being dead to consider anything at all. The boy's face contracted into a disappointed, worried, vaguely hopeless expression, chewing at his lip. It was an awful look for him, Rhekt decided, and set to fixing it.

"Rhekt," the boy started, "I wonder if you could perhaps check the perimeter of the courtyard? It would be exceedingly helpful. They don't often send more than one, but if you could comb the area again, I'd be eternally grateful."

The djinn knew his friend well enough to translate that into 'please go do something where you can still keep watch on me but also give me some alone time because I really need it'. He smiled, and nodded, a pair of wings twisting out of his back, then let his mouth falter. For a second, he considered the prince, then rested a hand on his shoulder and pressed his lips to Ptolemy's forehead through his bangs.

By the time it had registered in the boy's brain, the spirit was already out the window and on the grounds below.

~!~

They watched one another more closely, now - not that they hadn't watched closely before, but Ptolemy often found himself glancing towards the spirit, who, in turn, was actively looking for an excuse to attempt the display again. Once, he concluded, was honestly not enough to fully show his mind to his friend.

It would always come randomly. Ptolemy would laugh harder at one of Rhekt's jokes than the statement had really deserved, and while the boy had been snorting into his palm, his friend leaned over and planted a kiss on his ear. Or the boy would be bent over parchments, brow furled in concentration, and suddenly feel a softness on the back of his neck.

In return, the prince doubled his. A kiss on the shoulder when Rhekt passed him a scroll on a lazier day, next to the eye when he pulled a tarp over the balcony to protect Ptolemy from the sun, against the neck for fetching him a glass to drink from, and so on and so forth.

~!~

It was bound to happen at some point.

The two of them trekked out in the dead of night, into the middle of nowhere, so Ptolemy's view of the constellations could go uninterrupted. Rhekt was merely there as a guard and companion, shields set up all around the boy and slumping down comfortably next to him as he drew and wrote and made other general notations. Both decided on giving the other an impromptu kiss - Ptolemy to Rhekt's jaw and Rhekt to Ptolemy's temple - and their mouths, instead of finding their way correctly, met each others'.

The boy jolted back, embarrassed, face burning, hand clapped over mouth as though a squeal might come pouring out if he didn't hold it where it was. The djinn, however, seemed unaware, as ever, of what exactly that had meant, and had flopped back onto the sand, hands pillowing his head and gentle, vague laugher about the casual accident.

After a good quarter of an hour, the boy worked up the nerve to settle a hand down on either side of the spirit's head, who smiled chummily up at him, and with no accident about it, kiss him square on the mouth.

Confused fingers tangled in his hair, but the spirit did not pull away.


End file.
